


your body hurts me as the world hurts god

by GucciAspirin



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Future Fic, Post Finale, Sexual Content, um i guess infedelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 09:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14931752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GucciAspirin/pseuds/GucciAspirin
Summary: "I think of you when I look at the sky. I think about how we share it with so many other people - when it was clearly meant for just the two of us."// Villanelle wants closure





	your body hurts me as the world hurts god

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Fever 103°" by Sylvia Plath

_ God, I’m tired.  _

 

Eve stares at her phone, at Niko’s contact information. Niko who has been sleeping on someone else’s couch. And Eve is fully aware that she should be upset that he’s away - she  _ is  _ upset - but not as upset as she could be. 

 

She should call him. She called him last night, but he’s been away for three weeks. She made him mad enough to leave for three  _ whole  _ weeks. Niko! The man who doesn’t even get mad when people cut him off in traffic. The man who made her lunch every day. The man who cooks freshly hatched (pooped?) chicken eggs.

 

Eve should be calling him every day. She should say she misses him, that she’s sorry, that she doesn’t know what had gotten into her. 

 

But Eve is also  _ so _ tired. The dreariness that comes from lack of sleep. Every time she closes her eyes she can feel the warm blood on her hands, see that look in  _ her _ eyes. 

 

_ I really liked you.  _

 

_ It hurts.  _

 

And every time she opens her eyes Eve thinks - why?  _ Why didn’t I finish it when I had gotten so far. _

 

The answer is always in the back of her throat. It’s a serrated blade that would cut her if she said it out loud.

 

After Bill, Frank, Nadia. 

 

Admitting it would kill her.

 

How do you stop thinking about the psychopath that ruined your life. Or maybe Eve ruined her own life. Or Maybe they ruined it together. Maybe they held it in their hands, and pressed their palms together to make some twisted, dark thing.

 

Eve only knows that she needs to get whatever pieces of her life she has left back. And she can. She can call Niko again. Last night they talked for almost an hour. He laughed. And then when he asked about  _ her _ , Eve lied to him and told him she’d stopped looking. That she’d moved on to something else. Something less dangerous.

 

It might as well be true since all leads have gone cold. She disappeared, once again a ghost. Sometimes Eve thinks, _maybe I did finish it._ Villanelle bled out somewhere, cold and alone. And Eve is filled with such inexplicable pain and something rushes through her and she has to shout, yell, break something.

 

(Last time the neighbors called the cops, and Eve clumsily had to explain that she was just maybe having a small breakdown). 

 

Eve stares at Niko’s name so long her vision begins to blur. She lifts her thumb, hovers over the word “call.” Then after a second, she dials. 

 

It goes to voicemail after four rings. He either doesn’t want to talk, or he’s sleeping. Most likely the latter. 

 

“Oh, thank god.” She sighs and lets her head fall back. Feels her hair fall completely against her back. She shakes her head and walks back into the bedroom. “I am a terrible person” she says with the smallest laugh, coarse against her throat.

 

“You kind of are.” 

 

Eve freezes. 

 

“Little bit.”

 

She looks up and across the room. The lights are off, but the voice is unmistakable. She can’t see anything but Villanelle’s silhouette, and then - as she walks forward - Villanelle’s face. Her hair, her eyes, her nose, lips. Eve can make out her expression; eyes wide, lips pursed. She looks perplexed, like she’s the confused one.

 

“Shit!” Eve jumps back, yells. Or maybe it’s more of a squeal. She doesn’t know. All she really knows is that the psychopath she stabbed is in her room and looking at her very pointedly with a gun in hand. 

 

“Yeah,” Villanelle says, “shit.”

 

Eve scurries backward until she’s up against the door. Fuck. She did close it, didn’t she? Why did she do that? Well, it’s not like she planned for this, but still. Plan, a plan, a plan - she’s gotta think of a plan. Police do patrol around her house, maybe if she can get outside somehow - but that would require escape. Villanelle has a gun, extremely fast reflexes, and a reason to shoot. There is no plan. Not yet.

 

Eve takes in a deep breath. “Oksana,” she says, the name coming out breathier than she’d of liked. Villanelle sounds more natural on her tongue. It represents the woman in front of her better. Oksana was prison. Villanelle is polished, clean, lavish. 

 

“Eve Polastri,” she says. The  _ r  _ rolls against her tongue. She smiles. “You look nice.” 

 

Eve is wearing grey fuzzy pants, and an oversized shirt with a picture of Garfield the cat on it, but there is no irony in Villanelle’s voice.

 

Eve looks down, then back up.“Your face...has healed,” she says, because although she has many questions, she’s too surprised and too unhinged to remember them. 

 

Villanelle’s smile slowly disappears. Eve gulps. 

 

She waves the gun towards the bed. “Sit down.”

 

Eve stares for a moment, thinks about the blood on her hands. And again:  _ It hurts.  _ “Oksa-”

 

“Sit down!” She shouts. The hand holding then gun is shaking, but only a bit. It reminds Eve of the night she shot Konstantine. It reminds her of  _ Don’t break my heart.  _ And Eve feels responsible for some great travesty for just a moment. 

 

She nods slowly, then walks over to the bed. With Villanelle staring her down, Eve sits.

 

“You stabbed me.”

 

“I know.”

 

“You  _ stabbed  _ me,” she repeats, this time waving her arms out.

 

“I  _ know.  _ I didn’t-” Eve stops. “I mean, I didn’t know it would happen that way.” She doesn’t know what she’s saying.

 

“Uh. What do you think happens when you stab someone, Eve?”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“That really hurt! Like really,  _ really _ bad.” She touches her abdomen.

 

“I said I was sorry.” Eve sighs. She forgets the situation for a moment. And it’s strange how she can feel comfortable and terrified all at once when around Villanelle. And by strange, Eve means it’s insanely stupid. 

 

She is so insanely stupid.

 

“You’re sorry?” Villanelle asks. Her voice is small, and Eve can tell she’s genuinely curious. She laughs, runs a hand through her hair. “Why?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Eve says. “I mean. You’re an asshole. So, I really don’t know.”

 

“You don’t know? Well that doesn’t help me, Eve. You know? We were about to have  _ amazing  _ sex.”

 

Eve blushes. Her entire body suddenly feels too hot. 

 

“What?” Villanelle asks. “Were we not?”

 

“I-I don’t know I didn’t think about it much.” 

 

She thought about it a lot. 

 

“With the whole stabbing thing?” Villanelle asks. 

 

“Ye-yes.” Eve balls up her fists against the bed sheets. “Everything happened so fast. I don’t remember what I was thinking.”

 

She thought about having sex. With Villanelle. And then she thought about the knife. And then...and then.

 

When you stab someone it’s completely active, you have to push the knife through skin, it almost becomes an extension of your hand. You can feel the inside of the person, their warmth their muscle, their organs. Eve felt, but Eve didn’t think. For a moment, Eve could only perceive an intense physical attachment to Villanelle. It wasn’t until that intake of breath that Eve completely understood what she had just done. 

 

Now it all feels like a blur of events and emotions, like wet ink running down at page through written words.

 

Villanelle clucks her tongue. “Lay down,” she says.

 

Eve blinks once, slowly. “What do you want?” she asks. Her pulse is beating fast, hard. She can hear it in her head, like a headache without the pain. 

 

Villanelle smiles, breathes in. It’s dazzling. White teeth, plump lips, shining eyes. The kind of smile that someone would go crazy for - if they didn’t know exactly who Villanelle was. “You,” she says. She lowers the gun a bit. “ I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

 

_ Jesus Christ.  _ Eve’s eyes narrow. “When Harry Met Sally?”

 

Villanelle only laughs. “You know that one? That was good.” She stops laughing. “Lay down.”

 

“I think-” 

 

“ _ I think _ you should listen to the woman with the gun in her hand, yeah?” She waves the gun towards the bed again. Her eyes are focused, lips know forming a tiny frown that crinkles the corners of her mouth. 

 

Eve continues to stare at Villanelle for a few seconds. Would Villanelle shoot her? She doesn’t know. Yes, at one point she promised that she wouldn't kill Eve - but that was before Eve stabbed her. 

 

It takes Eve a moment to realize how scared she is. And it takes her another moment to realize she’s also excited, enthralled, magnetized. But still  _ completely  _ terrified. There is a gun underneath her bed. Eve knows she wouldn’t be able to get it. Not now. 

 

Perhaps when Villanelle had been so certain Eve wouldn’t hurt her. But things have changed. Eve has solidified her status as threat. And it’s something she’s both proud and irritated by. 

 

She lies down on the bed. 

 

Villanelle walks forward. As she nears the bed she puts the gun down on the floor. Eve looks her up and down. She looks good. Relatively casual, by which Eve means she is wearing jeans and a blue blouse that is most likely designer. There is something oddly non-threatening about her walk. Like she’s thinking about what to do next.

 

“Are you going to kill me?” Eve asks. Deja vu. 

 

Villanelle lies down next to Eve on the bed. She looks at the ceiling, hands folded over. After a moment, she sighs. “I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe. Can’t decide.”

 

Eve swallows. “I am sorry.”

 

Villanelle chuckles. “You should have seen the look on your face afterwards.You were all: _I’ve got you._ _I’ve got you._ ” She lets out a deep breath. Eve isn’t laughing. “You really got me there.”

 

Before Eve can eve grasp what’s happening, Villanelle pulls out a knife from the sleeve of her blouse. She flips over and pins Eve down. Eve blinks, and Villanelle is straddling her. The tip of the knife is against Eve’s abdomen. 

 

Flashbacks. Crimson covering the creases within her palms, a sharp gasp. So much blood. Regret. Panic. Loathing. Love. Panic. 

 

“I believe we were something like this when you stabbed me, yeah?” The knife is digging into her shirt. If Villanelle presses down any harder it will break skin. 

 

Villanelle laughs. “Sorry,” she says. “It’s your shirt.”

 

Eve licks her lips. Her breath is getting shorter and shorter.

 

“Garfield?” Villanelle asks. “Lasagna makes me happy, but you not so much,” she reads on the shirt. “Really?”

 

“Niko got it for me,” Eve says. She has to think of a way out. But if Eve makes any sort of movement that indicates escape, that knife will be three inches deep in her stomach. “What do you want?” she asks again. 

 

Villanelle leans in closer to Eve’s face, so that they’re only inches apart. She smells rich. Like perfume stored behind locked counters. Villanelle caresses Eve’s neck right before pressing the knife against her throat.

Villanelle’s eyes are bright and shiny. They remind Eve of a fire, uncontrollable. No matter how long Eve studies the fire, she never knows what it’s going to destroy next. 

 

“I want to know the truth,” Villanelle says. The look in her eyes is so sincere it almost hurts.

 

“Truth?” Eve asks. 

 

Villanelle purses her lips. “You think about me?”

 

The question is almost funny. Because what else  _ could _ she think about. Because Villanelle is here for some type of closure. Because they are in the exact same position as they were weeks ago, with just the slightest reversal of roles.

 

Eve wants to laugh for so many reasons, but she does not. 

 

She really is tired.

 

The knife is digging against her skin. It’s not serrated, but if Villanelle so much as flicks her wrist a certain way, that’ll be it. 

 

“Well?” Villanelle asks, exasperated. 

 

Eve wonders how long Villanelle has wanted to ask this question. 

 

“Yes,” Eve says. Her voice is hoarse from the pressure against her throat. “All the time.”

 

Villanelle takes a deep breath, and Eve watches her throat bob as she swallows. She smiles, but only with her lips. Her eyes are somber, not dull - but not filled with their usual excitement. A breathy sigh escapes from Villanelle’s lips, Eve thinks it may be relief.

 

“What about when you masturbate,” she asks. 

 

Eve can feel her face burning, her chest, something deep and low within her abdomen. “I- yes,” she says.

 

“When you’re having sex?”

 

“Yes,” Eve says, shorter this time. This is torture. And Eve is certain that Villanelle is doing this on purpose. She does almost everything on purpose. Calculating, clever, cruel. 

 

Villanelle laughs. “Yeah?” she asks. Her eyes get brighter. She pushes her tongue into the side of her cheek, makes a popping sound, then lessens her pressure on the knife.

 

“It  _ really  _ hurt, you know?” she says. 

 

Eve knows that it hurt, but she also knows Villanelle is being completely dramatic. “I’m sorry,” she sighs.

 

“Why?” Villanelle asks again. Eve thinks that if there is a time to try something, now would be it. 

 

Eve could go for the knife first, then maybe the gun. Eve could get the knife and flip it.

 

“Why are you sorry?”

 

Eve could kill her.

 

“Why did you try to help?”

 

Eve can’t kill her. 

 

“I don’t know,” Eve says. Her voice cracks. She really doesn’t. All Eve knows is that she wants Villanelle alive. Despite the countless lives Villanelle has ruined. Despite Bill. 

 

“Are you going to kill me?” Eve asks.

 

Villanelle stares down at Eve. “Are you going to kill me?”

 

“No,” Eve says.

 

Villanelle holds the knife close to Eve’s throat then moves it downward so that  it brushes against Eve’s clavicle. She bites her lip, grins. “No,” she says. “But I am going to hurt you,” she states.

 

“Now?” Eve asks. She’s scared but intoxicated. 

 

“No.” Villanelle straightens up. She folds the knife and puts it into her back pocket. 

 

It almost looks like Villanelle is going to leave, and yet Eve can’t help but ask, “Can I see?” She looks at Villanelle’s abdomen. 

 

Her curiosity when it comes to Villanelle is an itch that Eve can’t stop scratching. Even when she’s bleeding with dull nails and a growing scab. And Eve tells herself that once she figures out who  _ Villanelle _ is, she’ll stop. But figuring out who Villanelle is, is like asking how many stars there are in the sky. 

 

Villanelle touches her blouse, her fingers dance on the spot where Eve stabbed her. Eve reaches out, as one would reach out to a timid cat. She rests her hand over Villanelle’s for only a second before retracting. 

 

“You don’t have any more knives on you, do you?” Villanelle asks.

 

“No. I don’t want to hurt you,” Eve says, surprised by the honesty in her voice.

 

Villanelle laughs so soft that if Eve closed her eyes she might not even hear it. She leans in, hovering above Eve’s face. “I knew you liked me,” she says. Everything about the look on her face is mischievous, and red flags are going off in Eve’s head.  _ Danger. Stop. Run.  _  But Eve is too transfixed by how Villanelle’s eyes look both incredibly black, and golden brown all at once. 

 

Eve kisses her, twines her hands in silky, blonde hair and lets go completely. Villanelle reacts immediately. Hungrily.

 

Her mouth doesn’t taste like blood the way Eve had always imagined it would. 

 

Instead Villanelle is warm. She’s soft and tender, and it’s dangerous how quickly Eve can forget everything she’s done.

 

Eve wonders if Villanelle can also forget for just a moment.

 

With their lips touching, Villanelle’s tongue smoothly traces Eve’s. A hand buried in Eve’s hair, another sliding up her torso. Eve wants it -  _ she’s scared because she wants it. _

 

“Please, Oksana.” Eve touches her face. “Let me see.”

 

Eve thinks that if she blinked just once, a tear might fall down Villanelle’s cheek. It’s that glassy look, a storm that never falls. 

 

Villanelle lifts the hem of her blouse.

 

The wound is almost completely a scar now. A pale, pink split of smooth skin. Eve feels horrible and satisfied at the same time. Villanelle who kills without remorse, Oksana who completely left a life behind at some point, the woman staring down at her. That scar will never completely go away. Eve will always be a tiny part of Villanelle, even if she doesn’t want to be.

 

Eve touches the scar. 

 

The two of them gasp at the same time.

 

It’s rough, it feels the way Villanelle should feel. Because she shouldn’t be warm or soft or beautiful. But while staring at it, Eve can’t help but to find even that stunning. The perfect flaw.

 

“Eve?”

 

Eve looks up. 

 

“I am going to take off my shirt now.”

 

“Oh.Ok.”

 

“And then I am going to take off your shirt.”

 

Eve doesn’t know why she’s feigning surprise, but she is. Maybe it’s because that’s how she’s supposed to feel. 

 

“Is that okay?” she asks, bluntly, almost confused - as if she read Eve’s intentions wrong.

 

“No. No - it’s. Yes. It’s okay. I just-”

 

“It’s okay.” She smiles, then laughs under her breath. “I’m good at this.” She takes off her shirt. Eve still hasn’t comprehended Villanelle’s last sentence. “This shirt,” Villanelle says, while sliding Eve’s oversized garfield shirt off, “It’s so funny.” 

 

The urge to cover herself rises now that she’s topless, not even a bra to cover her breast. Villanelle is staring, hard. Her eyes are glazed over. She drags her finger down Eve’s stomach, so lightly that it almost tickles. “Beautiful.” She leans down and kisses Eve. “I want to touch every part of you,” she states, her mouth still in contact with Eve’s skin. 

 

She says it with that bluntness she has when she says anything. It’s how Eve has come to know when Villanelle is lying or not. The cocky assuredness that carries her truths.

 

Eve kisses her hard, closing her eyes and wrapping her hands around Villanelle’s waist. It’s not the way she kisses Niko, not the way she’s kissed anyone. Eve’s afraid to admit that it might be the passion. 

 

_ “It was always the ones I liked the least I loved the most.”  _ Eve remembers Carolyn saying that, along with  _ “I’m sorry you don’t like your husband.”  _ But she was wrong about that. Eve’s always liked Niko - the way everybody likes Niko. And Eve is now looking at Villanelle with a mixture of awe, lust and hatred.

 

“I love the way you look at me,” Villanelle says. She kisses Eve’s neck, right below her ear. Her breath is warm, ticklish. “You want to destroy my whole world, and be it all at the same time.” Eve inhales as Villanelle’s fingers brush over her nipple. “You want all of me and nothing.” Villanelle’s left hand is playing with the waistband of her pants. “I think you’d do anything for me, but you want it to hurt.” She starts to tug the pants down. “I love that.” 

 

Eve remembers the letters to Anna, how good Villanelle was with her words. 

 

Villanelle cups Eve through her underwear. “You are  _ so  _ wet.” She chuckles. 

 

Villanelle unbuttons her jeans, and kicks them off. Her lingerie is pink. It looks like silk, too expensive for someone to own and wear seriously. It’s so entirely frivolous and so entirely Villanelle. 

 

Eve wonders if she planned this, or if she’s just that vain. 

 

“Does it still hurt?” Eve asks. She’s looking at the scar again.

 

She straddles Eve’s thigh. The sensation of wet warmth and smooth silk press against Eve at the same moment. 

 

Eve gasps into Villanelle’s mouth. They kiss, and with the soft brush of Villanelle’s tongue, the way she’s grinding down on Eve’s thigh - Eve almost forgets what she asked.

 

“It hurts sometimes,” she says. “It makes me think of you.” She puts her hand inside Eve’s underwear. “I want to hurt you so you think of me the same way. I want to be a part of you, the way you are a part of me.”

 

Villanelle slides her fingers inside of Eve.

 

It’s so  _ good _ . Eve hates that. The way she can’t help but to react to Villanelle. And how at times it feels like that’s what she was born to do. React to Villanelle, chase her, hunt her, maybe even love her.

 

Eve lets her hands slide down Villanelle’s back, down to her ass, her thighs. There are so many things she wants to touch.

 

Villanelle’s mouth is on Eve’s neck, and it might as well be a hand choking her. The way her lips leave dark bruises, her teeth sharp and delicate against the curve of Eve’s neck. 

 

The way Villanelle moves isn’t gentle. It isn’t like sex with Niko - where he thinks to  _ care  _ about every move he does. It’s almost selfish, a blurry haze of lust and needs combined with expert precision and movement. Eve wonders if this is how Villanelle kills.

 

She bucks and squirms underneath Villanelle. The thrusts are deep, hard with a thumb angled perfectly over Eve’s clit.

 

She’s close. Eve grabs Villanelle’s face, kisses her, bites down on her lip.

 

It’s reckless. Villanelle is grinning against her mouth. Eve likes that there is always something violent about her smile, it’s never just teeth. When she smiles, Eve knows that it could kill someone. Her lips, her teeth, her liquid tongue.

 

And Eve is in trouble. As she’s climaxing, she realizes that Villanelle is the only thing she can see. It’s the only thing she wants to see. Somewhere along the way, Eve stole the sun and let the world end.

 

It’s self destruction bordering on insanity. Eve deserves to be hurt by Villanelle - worse - she  _ wants  _ it. She wants to both devour and be devoured.

 

Villanelle grinds down hard against Eve.

 

Maybe Eve wants Villanelle branded into her skin too. 

 

Villanelle is going faster. Eve can’t stop thrusting against her fingers.

 

Maybe nothing else in the world matters as much as her, and Eve is prolonging the inevitable destruction of everything else.

 

Villanelle is looking directly at Eve, and Eve can see herself in shimmers. She’s turned into someone else, but she doesn’t know who yet. 

 

Maybe it’s only supposed to be the two of them. And everything else is simply reaction.

 

Eve falls. The tension leaves her body slowly, minor tremors of pleasure rolling through her. She’s so, so tired. For a moment, she doesn’t want to pretend. 

 

“That was...nice,” Villanelle says. She has a soft smile. It’s oddly sweet.

 

She flips over, lying next to Eve. Eve stars at the scar, then gently runs her thumb over it again. Villanelle doesn’t say anything, doesn’t really react at all. 

 

“Are you ok?” Eve asks. It seems silly.

 

Villanelle mouth twitches just the tiniest bit. She bites her lip and then turns to face Eve. “I thought about this a lot.” She toys with the ends of Eve’s hair. “I came on your thigh  _ super  _ fast.” She laughs. “Can you believe that?”

 

Eve laughs too. It’s so blunt, but Eve can’t find it in herself to be modest. Not right now. Maybe later once she thinks about the repercussions of tonight.

 

She closes her eyes and sighs. The bed shifts, only slightly, but Eve knows it’s Villanelle getting ready to leave.

 

“Could you stay. Just for a bit,” Eve asks. 

 

The bed dips again. “Okay.” It’s a small, small voice, but assuring.

 

Eve feels fingers caress her hair, but Villanelle says nothing.

 

She falls asleep, and she isn’t scared, or anxious, or even sad. Instead there is an overwhelming sense of comfort. Eve thinks that might be worse.

 

There is a note on her nightstand when she wakes up. Eve rubs her eyes before she reads it. 

 

_ Eve,  _

 

_ I want to breathe you in every day, touch every inch of skin, own every part of you. I am already excited thinking about the next time we meet. What will happen - will I hurt you, will you hurt me? Or will I watch you slowly fall asleep with unclenched hands and parted lips. _

 

_ I think of you when I look at the sky. I think about how we share it with so many other people - when it was clearly meant for just the two of us.  _

 

_ I want it back. I want the world. I want you.  _

 

_ Love, _

 

_ Villanelle _

 

_ PS: FIND ME xoxo _

**Author's Note:**

> hey im @viIIaneiles / jazzy on twitter say hi if u want


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